Let Them Eat Cake
by Smothered By Moths
Summary: One potion of passion, a fickle, easily distracted assassin and a daedric prince. What is the worse that could happen?
1. Simple she said

Today was the day… er night rather.

Yes tonight was the night when Aya was finally going to succeed. Going to corner that clown, strip his clothes off… except maybe the hat, yes that could stay… and have ALL of her ways with him. Ways that sent minute shivers skipping along her nerves every time they came to mind.

And ooooh how they came to mind, chirping at her at the most inappropriate times, wafting through her brain no matter what the occasion. Every flat surface became an embodiment of robe hiking potential and red cheeked embarrassment. And she'd never be able to look at leather strips the same way after a particular potent scenario had sprung up most unwanted while she helped Arnbjorn man the forge. That incident had been particularly bad, so carried away by her thoughts, that she had burned her hand in a moment of clumsiness and almost set fire to Arnbjorn's eyebrows. To say the werewolf had been unpleased… understatement of the era.

But not tonight, oh no, she was going to get these feelings… these yearnings out of her system once and for all.

_'__Well maybe not just once…'_ She was unconsciously smirking before she even had time to hush that little nagging voice in the back of her head, the one she liked to blame for all the debaucherous thoughts that made her mind dirtier that the grey quarter of Windhelm.

Into the kitchen she secreted herself, suspicious eyes scanning the dark living quarters that sat off to her right. Nothing stirred.

She knew there wouldn't be anyone there, that it was just her honed paranoia getting the better of her. After all, Astrid was playing with her maps, Arnbjorn was hammering on something at the forge, Babbette had gone out to eat someone, Gabriella was in the study reading "A game at dinner", Festus was out on a job, Veezara was stabbing the training dummies while Nazir watched and the mad fool of hearts himself was pacing the night mother's chapel like a … well madman of course.

That left her, alone, in the kitchen, with a unlabeled potion in one hand and a manic look to her eye.

* * *

"You are absolutely positive that this will do what I need it to?" Aya stared at the red goo gurgling in it's unmarked clear bottle. Seeing it move about on its own had her mildly questioning the entire idea of slipping a certain red haired jester a little 'love in a bottle' as the peddler had called it.

Of course what she expected from a creaky old man selling his wares out of a tattered canvas covered wagon in the middle of nowhere she didn't exactly know. But she was pretty sure she didn't expect it to gurgle at her.

"Lass, how many times do I have to repeat myself? You slip that to your victim… er the fellow you're interested in wooing and you can sit back and enjoy at least a full night of… affection from said fellow." The peddler spoke surprisingly well for someone who only had half their teeth left and looked like a stiff breeze would carry him off into the sunset like a dandelion puff.

"I just want to be sure before I part with that many septims." Aya was hard to part with her money regardless of what the purchase was, but given how much trouble this little crush of hers was causing her, this seemed honestly worth it. Even if the contents of the bottle she held were questionable. "Is it supposed to hiss at me like that?"

"Listen lass, I don't got all day. Now either slap them septims down or be off. I ain't got time fer all these questions."

"Fine fine I'll buy it," she said hastily, upturning her meager coinpurse into the old man's hand. "So how do I use it?"

"Just get the sod you wanna snog to take it, that's all ya gotta do."

"How am I supposed to get him to drink something that looks like it will bite you the moment you pull out the stopper?"

"Not my problem lass, hide it in his drink or in his stew. Don't matter one way or the other. Bake it in a cake if ya like." The stout grump was already jumping back up to the driver seat of his wagon, quite done with his customer now that he had the gold in hand.

"Now what a minute! I just paid you all my gold the least you can do is answer a few questions. Like does it have any side effects?"

But the man was away, rattling down the road and leaving her to pat dust from her dark robe in annoyance.

* * *

That had been four days ago. Four long nerve wrecking days.

Aya had gone back and forth with herself for hours in those days, debate after lost debate with that little voice in her head. And when it won and a plan had formed, she had fetched the bottle she'd hidden in the chest by her bed under her smalls and dagger. snuck down to the kitchen and begun the slow and delicate process that would bring her plan to sweet fruition. That had led to the here and now, with her hand poised over a vat of freshly made frosting and the still warm from the oven cake waiting patiently on the table.

In went the potion, hissing and sputtering all the way into the pot. She stirred, watching the white and red merge into a cheerful pink. Then onto the cooling cake, its spongy fluff absorbing the glaze greedily. Next the knife and plate, a slice here, a cut there and Aya had a fat slice sectioned off and ready to be lovingly forked into her dreamy madman's mouth.

She paused then, fretful about whether the section she had was big enough, and if there was enough frosting coating it for the potion to work. Did she need more glaze? More cake even? Would the cake counteract the potion?

She shook off that last worry, after all the old man had said 'bake a cake', and she had. It didn't make sense for him to tell her to do it in such a way as to render his own potion inert. She was just anxious was all. 'Just some errant butterflies working their way from my gut to my head,' she told herself as she picked the plate up and grabbed a fork.

She made it to the end of the table before it occurred to her that if tonight was going to be… the night… then it wouldn't do to look like a carriage wreck. And with flour coating her clothes, frosting smeared down one cheek and her hair matted with sweat from slaving over a hot oven for an hour, she looked very much a murderous mess.

_'__Well that won't do, a quick wash and a change of clothes are in order,'_ she sighed, setting the cake slice back on the table and hurrying off towards the stairs.

_'__We should leave the frosting on our cheek though… that way he can lick i...'_

_'__Nine divines can't you wait a second you strumpet? I swear I need to scrub you right out of my head one of these days.'_

_'__You are welcome to try darlin'.'_

Aya gave up trying to argue with the needy not-so-little voice in her head and instead grabbed a cloth and some fresh clothes before running off for a quick bath.

* * *

"Hey Aya what are you cooking in here? It smells fantastic." Gabriella called, stepping through the rough stone archway that parted the study from the kitchen, led by the scent of heated sugar and baked goods. But when she looked for the family's newest member there was neither hide nor hair of the eager assassin.

"Well at least she was kind enough to make enough for the rest of us," the Dunmer woman murmured to herself with a shrug, her gaze falling onto the source of that delicious aroma which was slowly filling the sanctuary. "Oooh snowberry frosting! My favorite." She needed no more motivation than that, the plate Aya had set down mere moments ago now snatched up by grey hands as the clink of fork on stoneware proceeded that first sweet bite.

* * *

Aya had dawdled longer than she had intended, scrubbing and re-scrubbing herself until she felt clean enough to dress for the occasion.

_'__I don't know why we're bothering getting clean now, we're just going to get all dirty again.'_

_'__Hush you.'_ She chided but knew it was likely true, if she had her way… she'd need another good scrub, much like the one her mind currently needed. But at least her skin was clean, she doubted a dirty mind would be much of a problem given the nature of what she intended to happen.

All she had to do was go fetch her slice of cake and give it to Cicero. Simple really, nothing to it.

Of course, when she went back to the kitchen, and found most of her family members sitting around the table with slices of HER CAKE in various stages of being eaten… it seemed 'simple', was simply not on the menu.


	2. A Taste of What You Paid For

A/n: Yeah I know, my brain is a dark and dirty place, not suitable for those with fairer sensibilities. On that note pass me the brain soap and forgive me.

* * *

Aya looked white as a ghost, which was quite the accomplishment for a girl who was normally three shades paler than tree bark. And as Astrid glanced toward her newest recruit she couldn't quite fathom why. Angry they had nearly scarfed her entire cake down in the last twenty minutes? Maybe, but this wasn't the first time Aya had put her ex-head cook skills to use in the brotherhood's kitchen. And Astrid could easily recall no fewer than six other occasions in which the band of merry murderers had fallen upon one of her dishes like a pack of ravenous wolves. So how likely was it that she was angry now?

Astrid supposed it didn't matter, Astrid was in charge of them so it fell to her to comfort the young woman, even if she didn't understand the reason for her flabberghasted expression. She patted the empty bench space next to her with a beckoning hand and a warm smile on her lips.

"There you are, come on and join us for a slice, Aya. Before Veezara over there wolfs down the last one." Astrid was only half joking, the Argonian in question having already devoured three slices and was licking the frosting of the fourth off of his scaled snout.

"Nah that's alright… I seem to have suddenly lost my appetite,"

"You sure tidbit? It was pretty good for something so full of sugar." This from Arnbjorn whose singed beard had grown back in patches and now supported a crumb or two. A sight which brought a chuckle or two from Astrid who sat to his left and took it upon herself to point them out to him.

Was it Aya's imagination or was Astrid being more cheerful than usual? Was Arnbjorn's tone a touch warmer than the one with which he usually spoke?

"Quite sure but thanks… Glad you all liked it I guess." Aya took the seat Astrid had beckoned her to, trying not to fidget guilty little fidgets with her clasped hands.

"You should give me the recipe sometime, wouldn't mind trying my own hand at it," chimed Nazir who was eyeing the same piece that Veezara was guarding with a poised fork.

Aya buried her face in her hands, bare elbows pressing into the rough wood table top. '_Dear Sithis take me now,'_ she groaned inwardly, wondering what new unwelcomed surprise the evening planned on braining her with. What ever it was, it was surely going to send her to an early dirt nap.

Unawares, the others chewed on, the only one who was in the sanctuary but missing from the dining table being one mad jester. Which suited Aya just fine, if she'd seen his manic smile amid the others her face might have literally burst into flames.

Yes, she had meant the cake for him. She had meant the concoction the others were currently licking of their fingers, for him. But if what the old man had told her was true, and not just a means to part her gold from her, then she really didn't want Cicero to be a part of whatever madness unfolded in the next few moments.

Then again, as she shifted her fingers enough to peer at her family members through the spaces between them, why wasn't it working already?

'_It's been at least a half of an hour, shouldn't they be… doing something?' _She didn't know whether to be silently praying thanks or vehemently cursing that swindling peddler.

'_We can do both, but mostly that last one. Damnedable bastard, who even knows what that stuff he sold us really does? It could be a type of pios...'_

The thought finished and Aya's pale visage got an unhealthy dose of green.

With eyes painfully wide and hands shaking she watched the faces around her for the first sign of illness and saw nothing but the usual fare of jokes and stories being exchanged and reacted to. Still that didn't necessarily mean anything, and if something… anything happened to them it would be her fault.

That single realization was the most sobering thing she could have swallowed.

Rising from the table without a sound the young, and occasionally foolish, assassin strode purposefully towards the place where Babbette kept her alchemy equipment. Her singular focus being on brewing as many healing potions as she could… just in case.

* * *

Several hours later…

The air in the sanctuary felt ungodly humid, causing Gabriella's sleeping gown to stick to her skin in cumbersome and annoying ways. It seemed as if the air had been steadily growing warmer for the past couple of hours and any attempt she made to get comfortable in her bed was thwarted by the heat. She'd kicked off her blankets ages ago and yet still found no relief. Not from the underside of her pillow, not from the stone wall which she'd pressed herself against, nothing.

Begrudgingly she rose from the straw mattress. Short cropped hair a mess, pulling at the front of her night gown in an attempt to supply her skin with some air she slipped down the stairs and into the kitchen. Her goal? A glass of water and to ensure that the cook fire had been doused fully. On a night this warm having even a low burning fire would only add to what was already unbearable.

However, not even embers glowed from beneath the layer of ash that had been yesterday's fire. But Gabriella was unwilling to try sleep again, the idea of tossing about not a pleasant one. Instead she turned her attention to elsewhere in the sanctuary. Her feet carried her on a meandering path that led to the light still burning from Arnbjorn's forge, having half a mind to ask him to douse it in hopes it would lower the temperature.

But said werewolf was no where in sight.

'Odd….' But judging by the time perhaps not.

What was truly odd was not the absence of a dark brother but rather the presence of one she had not expected. Veezara stood staring off into the fire's depths. Not even a nod to her as she stepped within the circle of orange light. She tentatively touched his shoulder, a quirked brow and sideways mouth marking her curiosity.

"Couldn't sleep," he murmured through thick reptilian lips.

"Me either. It's too bloody hot."

A flicker of slitted eyes reflecting the fire's light that alighted on her face and then briefly on her hand, still fanning the front of her gown.

"Well you do technically have more layers you could shed."

Her hand stopped mid motion, her head cocked quizzically to the side.

"Just stating the obvious dark sister."

Gabriella couldn't argue with that. '_This heat be damned.' _She grabbed the skirt of her night gown and hiked it up, shimming out of it and letting it fall to the side.

"Better?" Veezara's voice held no inflection that did not come naturally from his accent. But Gabriella could have swore she'd caught his gaze lingering ever so slightly.

"A little," a shrug rolling through her shoulder. "What about you? Going to tell me you aren't sweltering under all that leather?"

"It takes a lot for me to overheat."

Gabriella supposed that made sense, certainly explained how he could stand so close to the forge. Now that she really looked at him, half swathed in shadows, half brightly shining scales, the Dunmer female wondered why she hadn't realized that fact out on her own. She wasn't really sure, it should have been simple, but her mind felt oddly lethargic. Her thoughts were lazily swimming through her head, drifting like flotsam and foam.

'_Swimming, what a wonderful idea.'_

* * *

"Gabriella…. what exactly are you doing?" Veezara's tongue felt sluggish in his mouth, like he'd been soaking it in brandy for the past week. It didn't want to form words, his lips did not want to form questions. That being said, he still had to wonder why, exactly, his fellow assassin was pressed against his back, diligently undoing each and every one of his armor's buckles.

"You can't swim in armor… so I'm taking it off for you." Her tone was so matter-of-fact. So reasonable sounding.

"I can swim in anything," he countered, unmoving as she slowly stripped his armor off and dropped it besides her discarded night gown. Somewhere along the line her smalls had joined that pile and Veezara couldn't quite recall when that had happened.

"Well come swim in the nude then." She finished tugging the last scrap of his clothing off with a joyous little laugh bubbling from her throat.

He was going to say something. His thoughts, dulled and in disarray, were trying to tell him something. But his physical senses were functioning just fine. And each was delightfully full of nude grey curves gleefully tugging him towards the shallow pool that formed at the base of a small cascade.

'_A swim,'_ Veezara reasoned, '_sounds like a fantastic idea.'_

* * *

A splash and a giggle, interrupted Nazir's otherwise peaceful book filled evening. Uncommon noises for a cave of cutthroats and unwelcome one's at that as he tried in vain to find his place on the page again. Another slap of flesh against water, another high trilling bout of laughter. Nazir let the leather spine of his book knock against the table.

It was bad enough he'd felt unusually fidgety, not being able to find a comfortable spot in what was normally his favorite seat in the sanctuary. Now this racket, coming from the main room, disturbing his evening yet further. Someone was going to get an earful about all the noise, of that he would make sure.

Up from his chair, down the hall a ways and smack into another warm body.


	3. Lo Que Sera, Sera

Aya was two moments away from falling over from exhaustion and crispy fried nerves. Fortunately, or perhaps not so much, a collision with Nazir saved her the trouble and left them both to pick themselves up off the ground.

"Damn it woman would it kill you to…"

Aya winced while she dusted herself off, waiting for the snark to roll off Nazir's tongue. This was not the first time the generally grouchy warrior had snapped at her for getting under foot. A habit she seemed unable to rid herself off.

"Are you alright?" Rather suddenly his battle roughed hands were helping her smooth the fabric of her clothing. No insult, no comment about being clumsier than a drunk mammoth, just a concern laced question and some curiously roaming fingertips.

"Um… I'm fine, but uh what exactly are you doing?" If there was a way to keep suspicion out of her voice Aya didn't know it. Did she trust her fellow assassin? About as much as you can trust anyone who enjoys killing for money. Whether that was the pot calling the kettle black was of little consequence.

"Checking to make sure of course." His gruff words were so straightforward, so nonchalant. She almost believed them. Almost.

"I fell on my rump Nazir, not my bust."

He tilted his head to the side, eyeline sliding just past her face as the gears turned in his mind. He seemed to decide something quickly enough because his hands wandered lower, down to her aforementioned backside.

"Better?"

'Yes!' piped that insufferable voice in her head. The one that didn't seem to care about who was paying her attention as long as it was physical.

"That's not what I meant. What's gotten into you anyway?"

"Would you like me to touch you elsewhere then?" The smile he had would have made even the slyest fox proud. And those eyes... deep set, mahogany hued and filled with the heat of the scorching sands. "Nothing's 'gotten into me' dearest. But if you would be so inclined perhaps we could put some…"

Aya's hands went to two places at once. The first to Nazir's mouth in order to muffle the atrocious innuendo he was about to say and the second to her own forehead.

"Cake…" She didn't know how she could have been so daft as to not recognize Nazir's sudden shift in behavior for what it it was. '_Damn it all to the void how could I be so stupid as to let this happen?'_

"I think there's still a slice left. Would you like me to fetch it? We could enjoy it together." Despite being muffled, Nazir's articulate voice managed to sound both inviting and completely unlike his usual self.

'_Well at least it wasn't poison,'_ the voice chimed.

'_I'm not sure that this is the better outcome,' _Aya chided back, wondering with awkward bemusement how she was going to fix things or at least place the blame elsewhere. Of course having Nazir kiss and massage her hand made thinking just a touch difficult.

'Need to distract him, gotta give myself some time to think.' It seemed as good an idea as any, or at least better than the ones her dirty mind was coming up with.

"Oh Nazir, I think I hear Astrid calling you."

'_Yeah cause that's totally going to work.'_

"I don't hear anything…"

'_Told you so.'_

Aya scrunched her face up in frustration, wondering if she should say something more believable or more ridiculous. She decided on the latter.

"And I am pretty sure she's naked."

That got his attention, cementing Aya's original assumption that his behavior was due to her cooking and not some newly revealed romantic interest in her.

"Well if my mistress needs me… who am I to refuse?"

Of course, she had expected him to run off with the image of a disrobed Astrid planted firmly in his potion warped mind. Him grabbing her wrist and pulling her along for the ride? Not so much.

Into the main room they hurried, Nazir leading the reluctant Aya by the hand while her face flushed an impossible shade of scarlet. To their left two very naked assassins were frolicking like nymphs in the pool. And the moment Veezara saw them she wished vehemently to flee right down the nearest dark hole to never be pried out of again.

Oh Gabriella was going to murder her if she ever found out it was Aya's doing that the Dunmer's dignity had been exchanged for rampant debauchery. And Veezara would probably run a stick up her backside and use her for a training dummy when the night folded into morning and the potion's effects wore off.

'_You mean if… it wears off.'_

'_Don't think that… don't you dare think that.'_

'_Come on, what's the worse that could happen? We're murderers for Sithis' sake, what's a little skin among friends?'_

'_It'll be skin alright, my skin nailed to a wall! That. That's the worse that can happen and probably will happen.'_

"Come on you two! The water's lovely!" Feminine words punctuated by uncharacteristic giggling and overwrought flailing as Gabriella tried to cheerfully drown Veezara with more affection than water.

"You're lovely." The Argonian's waterlogged response as he went from stoic shadow scale to smoozing sybarite in the time it took Aya to gag on the mush the two were exchanging.

Nazir didn't seem to mind, he had shed his clothing in a flash. It was only his trousers, thrown in a moment of crazed euphoria, falling on Aya's head that saved her from learning whether or not it was just his sword that was curved.

'_Not the least bit curious?'_ She knew that inner voice was ridiculous with its wanton desire, but did it really need to sound so disappointed right now? When she had a naked crisis on her hands?

'_No the real crisis here is that we are not naked. Come on, what's done is done. If we're going to have to pay for the aftermath of this regardless. Can't we at least enjoy it? Just a bit?'_

From nearer towards the black door the distinct sound of leather on flesh could be heard, coupled invariably with moaning and a gruff call for 'more'.

'_Yelp, I guess Mistress was a more apt title than we gave Astrid credit for.'_

'_I am going to be flayed alive for this.'_

'_Probably, might as well enjoy your skin while you have it darlin'.'_

'_Touche.'_

Aya was about three seconds away from tossing her potion stained dress aside when a particularly angry sounding 'hrmph' noise sounded directly behind her. If she'd still been tired at all from earlier, even after Nazir's tender affections, she certainly wasn't anymore. And whipping around to see who was there only made it all the worse.

Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, hat propped off to the side of his head and with one booted foot tapping out an annoyed little rhythm, stood one mad jester. His heart shaped face took one look at the frolicking assassins in the pool and then a longer harder look at Aya who still had her skirt hiked up to about mid thigh.

"Cicero knows… Cicero understands rather…" the funny little man began, his arms uncrossing so that he might talk with his hands as well as his lips, "that he is not anyone's favorite so to say." A pause then, almost hopeful but mostly bitter, accompanied by a held breath in which Aya could scarcely move, let alone respond. Not that she didn't at least try.

"Cicero…"

He held up his gloved hand, shushing her instantaneously.

"However, it hurts that he wasn't invited." And in that moment she could feel it. A terrible, wrenching loneliness that could be so easily assuaged.

'_Can be.'_ Aya's inner voice corrected, and for once she agreed.

"Come on Cicero, let's get you some cake."

'_And a piece for us too.'_

'_Not a chance, I want to enjoy this with a clear mind… if not exactly a clean one.'_

'_Touche.'_


	4. Epilogue: Icing on the Cake

From his plane of Oblivion Sanguine found himself laughing until his sides hurt. It was about time someone taught those agents of Sithis how to really cut loose without cutting someone else in the process.

Not that the Daedric prince of hedonism didn't have a certain appreciation for pain, just that he approved of it more when it was entwined with pleasure. And when he had taken that mortal form and peddled his own particular brand of 'liquid lust', it had been with utmost amusement that an assassin was his first customer. At least she'd gotten what she'd wanted out of the bargain.

True, not in the way she'd expected. But let it be said that Sanguine was at least a daedra of his word… in a way.

And people nowadays seemed to be wound tighter than a Thalmor justiciar's smalls. Always on about this or that war, this or that disaster. Dragons oh no! Rebellion, oh no! The mortals needed to loosen up a bit and he was just the daedra for the job. Now his only question was where to next? Now that he knew the effectiveness of this little brew, the possibilities were relatively endless.

* * *

Morgan looked down at the bottle in his hands with a mixed expression.

"You're absolutely positive this will do what I need it to?" He'd charged giants, gone to the edges of the map and back again for the smallest of requests, eaten things that no sane person would put in their mouths. But one look at the red gurgling mess climbing the sides of the bottle and the man was having some doubts.

"Sonny, I've told ya once, I've told ya a hundred times. Get your lady friend to drink that and all her's… and yours… problems will be over." The elderly man scratched at his head in boredom, eyeing the lanky looking fellow from the back of his tattered wagon.

"All of them?"

"All of them."

"Done." No more questions, no more suspicion, just the clink of a coin purse hitting weather worn wood and the fellow was off with his new purchase in hand. The old man chuckled to himself and scratched another tick into the side of his wagon. From down the road his customer's words floated lazily.

"Oh Lydia… I think I'll cook dinner tonight. You can just relax and leave everything to me."

"As you wish my Thane."


	5. Alt Epilogue: A Rose by Any Other Name

"So… that's what an Argonian hickey looks like."

Nazir felt the tell tale pressure of a groan coming on, Gabriella's voice little better than a cudgel against the pounding in his head. He let his loose linen shirt fall back into place and rubbed at his eyes for all the good it did him.

"Well it's not bleeding at least. Wonder if Arnbjorn can say the same." She sat a ways away from him, stretched out on one of the beds. One hand dangled off the side, the other held a cold wet rag on her forehead. She looked about the same as he felt. Hung over, fevered and exhausted. Of course Gabriella didn't have that "did I seriously do those things last night?' tightness about the eyes. Though she did share his expression of _'if she comes back alive I will personally bury her six feet under'._

_'She'_ in this case referring to one, no where in sight, Aya Willowrun.

"Well, that should take care of that," Astrid muttered with grim satisfaction as the black door swung closed once more. She made a promise to herself, repeated it over and over again as she tried to scrub last night from her memory.

_'The next initiate will have a sensible head on their shoulders.'_

She shuffled over to her desk muttering that mantra under her breath. "Next time…"

Arnbjorn appeared at the entrance of the hallway, weary-eyed and bushed. Astrid just shook her head and took a seat.

"Any luck with Veezara?" Astrid raised her hands to her temples, the sound of her own voice too loud even to her own ears.

"Not even. He refuses to come out of the pool." Arnbjorn kept his gaze pointed everywhere but on his wife. "Keeps muttering _'Oh Sithis'_ and_ 'why oh why'_. But I don't know, I still say it could have been worse."

Astrid peered long and hard at her barefoot and still shirtless husband, wondering how on Nirn things could have been worse without one or all of them dying. 'Though at least death would have spared my this ungodly headache.' Finally curiosity got the better of her.

"Tell me husband. How exactly, could it have been worse?"

He looked at her then, a horror filled and wide eyed look.

"Festus could have been home."

They both averted their eyes and shivered involuntarily, a welcome silence chasing those words away.

"So.." Arnbjorn said after what he felt was a long enough pause. "What did you do with 'her'?"

For the first time that morning Astrid's lips curled into a smile, and it was not a pleasant one.

"I sent her out on a contract."

"Which one? I didn't know we had any new ones."

"Oh, we don't."

"...You sent her on_ 'that one'?_ Astrid… no one's come back from…"

"Exactly."

* * *

"Are you alright my Thane?" Lydia looked down at her caterwauling employer with a raised brow.

"What do you think? Look at me! I look like a crone's pincushion for daedra's sake." Which was true, at least a half dozen arrows poking out every which way with Morgan's hands tugging at the one stuck in his rump. When it resisted his attempts to remove it he turned instead to the one lodged just north of his eyebrows. " And this one! Were they trying to make me look like a two legged unicorn or something? Did I at least get the blighter?"

_'How are you even still alive?'_ the housecarl mentally repeated, staring pointedly at the man as he tugged at the arrow lodged in his forehead. Lydia shook her head at the stubborn nonchalant of her Thane before glancing at the speck that marked the would be assassin disappearing over the horizon.

"Whether they're still alive sir I don't know, but they won't be when they land, that's for sure." From there her gaze fell to the possessions the assassin had been parted with when Morgan had sent her flying into the sunrise.

A hunter's bow, twenty two arrows not counting the ones stuck in Morgan's hide, a couple scraps of paper and a single shoe.

Lydia rummaged through the papers with only a sliver of interest until her pincushion of a boss peered over her shoulder.

"What's that one?"

"Seems to be a cake recipe sir."

"And the one below it?"

"Looks like a contract on your life sir. Seems this Astrid want's you in an early grave."

"Astrid? That's not my wife's name… how strange."

Lydia started to shrug but stopped as his words sank in.

"Wait… you're MARRIED?"

Morgan backed away from his indignant and enraged housecarl carefully, hands up trying to diffuse the situation with a hurried explanation.

"Now Lydia… it's not like that. I'm not really married, it's a long story… I mean you can't really marry a hag anyway it so doesn't count."

Lydia was having none of it, brandishing their newly acquired bow at him with the promise to pop his hide with a few more holes. "I don't care how old she is! How dare you even THINK of flirting with me when you have a loving wife at home!"

Morgan had his rose shaped staff in his hands in seconds, though it made for a poor excuse for a shield. "No not hag as in old! I mean Hagraven! Geez drink yourself silly just one time and no one let's ya live it down…"

"OH so now you're calling your wife names is it? How COULD YOU?"

Morgan rolled his eyes just as he felt the nip of another arrow, this one sticking off the end of his nose. "Oh I soo don't have time for this. Sorry Lydia but I just can't deal with you when you're like this. Setrelationshiprank 000A2C94 3."

"Like this?! Oh you little…." Lydia's face went slack for a moment, lips parted and one eye staring off to the side. The bow fell from her motionless hands then and with a jerk she came back to her senses…. sort of. "Oh my Thane! Someone shot you! Are you alright?"

Morgan's shoulders slumped with a sigh and a shake of his head. "Sure Lydia, I'm fine. How are you feeling?" He went to stow his staff again while he waited for her to answer, trying not to laugh at how ridiculous it all was.

But one of the staff's thorns caught on his robe and jerked it from his hands. A flash of purple light accompanied by the sound of a hundred whooshes erupted as it hit the snow covered ground.

"I SMELL WEAKNESS!"

"Oh for fuck's sake. Damn it Sanguine!"

* * *

And thus concludes the alternate epilogue for "Let Them Eat Cake." And so I leave it to you, wonderful readers, feel free to use the idea of a red gurgling 'potion of passion' for your own fanworks. And if you do use it send me the link! I'd love to read them.


End file.
